


Disobedience

by dino76



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Gen, Non-Consensual Spanking, Punishment, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-20
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-08 12:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18894421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dino76/pseuds/dino76
Summary: Captain Gregson tells Sherlock to stay away from their suspect and wait until forensics get back to them, Sherlock naturally doesn’t want to wait that long.Warning: Non-consensual spanking of an adult! Don't read if it's not your cup of tea!





	Disobedience

**Author's Note:**

> The story is a continuation of my first story in this fandom "The Talk". It was written for the following prompt for the Holiday Bingo on Livejournal:  
> “Elementary, Gregson/Sherlock Gregson spanks Sherlock for his own good (not drug related).”
> 
> non-consensual spanking of an adult in this story! I do not advocate this behaviour in real life, only in fiction.

The Holiday Season in general and Christmas in particular were just an incredible inconvenience. It did not serve the public well if investigators were distracted by thoughts of their families and loved ones. Crimes were still committed throughout the season, but the detectives that most of the year went about their job very diligently, suddenly had a soft spot for criminals and suspects because if they arrested them (as they should) they would not get to spend Christmas with their families. And apparently everybody deserved that.

Not that Sherlock agreed with any of that nonsense. Much to his chagrin though, even most dedicated investigators such as Captain Gregson or Detective Bell were preoccupied with thoughts about presents and decorations and Christmas trees. Even Watson had been distracted lately. She had gone so far as to dig out several decorations and ornaments that now littered the Brownstone. Naturally Sherlock had tried to take them down again, but his attempts had been thwarted, and in order to keep the peace in their partnership, he had left them as they were. (Although he whole-heartedly despised the Santa’s hat and beard Watson had forced on poor Angus.)

Their latest investigation had been particularly straining and even his vigorous deprivation of sleep to sharpen his focus had not brought about the desired results. It didn’t matter that everyone accused him of being short-tempered and tantrum-prone whenever he refused to sleep regularly. It usually yielded results and helped to solve the case faster, therefore it was a necessary step to ensure the vile criminals were put to justice.

He had to admit to himself though that this time sleep-deprivation did not help and combined with the all-around Christmas glee, it only served to further sour his mood. They had hit a snag on their murder investigation. Well, not a snag per se, more of a glitch. Sherlock was relatively certain that their main suspect was the culprit, but they did not have the physical evidence to prove it yet.

Forensics had been slowed down by a nasty cold that made its rounds through their staff, which caused a delay in processing and examining. They most likely could have arrested Bryan Sawyer already if only fingerprints and DNA were working faster. No-one agreed that going down there and yelling at them to get their arses in gear would solve anything and the Captain had pretty much commanded him to stay away from them, his order accompanied by dire threats lest his wishes be ignored. His suggestion to trick Sawyer into confessing had been declined equally as fast. Which left him in his current predicament: arguing with the Captain about the right course of action. Again.

“For the last time, Holmes, you will stay away from Sawyer. He’s dangerous and I don’t want you confronting him.” Captain Gregson was in the process of gathering his belongings and escaping into the weekend. Something that he had been looking forward to all week, Sherlock had quickly deducted.

“Yes, he’s dangerous,” he agreed. “And we must not let him roam the streets for another two days! Are you just waiting for him to pick his next victim?”

“I am not having this conversation with you again,” the Captain said angrily. “You’ve done nothing but argue with me all day. No, all week. We have to wait for Forensics to get back to us and until then our hands are tied.”

“No, no!” Holmes disagreed loudly, but the Captain held up a hand to thwart off his next words.

“Before you say it again, I’m gonna repeat myself. Again. – We have nothing to hold him on. He’d walk out of here and the only thing we’d have achieved is raising his suspicions. – So, for the last time: go home, get some sleep, and don’t even dare to go anywhere near Sawyer.” He opened his mouth to argue, but the Captain wouldn’t let him get another word in. “No. You will not set foot in his vicinity, or I’m making good on that promise I gave you last week.”

He angled his head to the side, glaring at the floor, as the Captain got ready to leave. He stopped again after buttoning his coat and Sherlock could feel his eyes on him. “Do I make myself clear?” He clenched his jaw, glancing at Gregson and his expression wasn’t very reassuring at all.

“Yes,” he bit out, opting to glare at the floor again.

“Good. See you Monday.” With that he walked out of his office and through the bullpen towards the elevator, and Sherlock could do nothing but stare after him.

He of course had no inclination to actually heed the Captain’s orders. He would make a quick pit-stop at the Brownstone before driving out to Queens and having a word with Sawyer, or have a look around the man’s home. There must be some shred of evidence there that would confirm his suspicion.

He didn’t like disobeying the Captain though and the notion put his stomach in uncomfortable knots. He had a lot of respect for him. Something that he hoped was mutual, but this Christmas frenzy was causing even the Captain to make poor choices. It was unnerving. He rubbed at his eyes in an attempt to get rid of the itching that always accompanied tiredness and forced the second thoughts about his planned disobedience out of his mind. Not an easy feat at all, given its over-activeness.

 

*

 

His pit-stop at the Brownstone had taken longer than expected. Watson had asked all kinds of suspicious questions that he did not wish to answer. Captain Gregson was right, Bryan Sawyer was dangerous and he did not fancy the thought of putting her in harm’s way. That she wished to accompany him once she heard of his plans was unquestioned, so he had made up an excuse and told her that he was headed for a meeting. He might decide to stop there afterwards to avoid feeling guilty about his deception.

Sawyer lived in a quaint little townhouse that did not represent his despicable character at all. Sherlock scowled at it from the corner of the block, watching the comings and goings from a safe distance to determine whether Sawyer was in. He wasn’t, Sherlock was almost completely certain. There hadn't been any movement in or around the house for the last half hour, and he was starting to believe that his fingers and nose would freeze off if he didn’t move soon. The nimbleness of his fingers was elementary to lock-picking, and he did not wish to abort his plan simply because his hands wouldn’t work properly.

Pushing off the brick wall he approached his target in a brisk stride to increase circulation, and blew hot air into his gloved hands. It worked only marginally, he noted with despair. But a great detective strived to grow with new challenges, and he had never been one to abolish a notion once he had set his mind to it. Checking his surroundings again, he climbed the couple of steps pretending that he belonged there, and slipped the lock-pick out of his pocket in one swift motion. His trained eye immediately selected the right tool for the job and so he quickly got to work.

Only to be interrupted by a strong grip around his biceps all of a sudden. He startled and swivelled his head, getting ready to defend himself, only to come face to face with a very displeased Captain Gregson. He almost dropped his tools in surprise, and wouldn’t that have been embarrassing? The Captain didn’t give him any chance to speak, as he dragged him down the steps, away from the townhouse and down the block. Sherlock couldn’t help but spare one last rueful look at his target, before he was quite unceremoniously pushed into an alley between two buildings that undeniably reeked of urine and other human excrements.

Captain Gregson whirled him around, the strong grip on his arm not once relenting, and despite his best intentions, his gaze immediately dropped to the ground upon seeing the Captain’s disappointed face.

“What did I tell you about Sawyer?” he demanded, and to his utter humiliation shook his arm slightly, as if he were a child that got caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“You said a lot of things about him,” he replied, bristling at being treated so unfairly. No-one at the precinct had put the appropriate diligence and effort into this investigation and now Gregson planned to reprimand him for his enthusiasm? Him? The only person willing to go the extra mile? That wouldn’t do at all. “Most memorably that he is almost certainly our perpetrator.”

The answer was not what the Captain wanted to hear, Sherlock ruefully noted, as to his astonishment he was roughly turned sideways and swatted across the butt. It quite abruptly knocked any sensible thought from his usually over-active mind. He didn’t even manage to draw in one breath or think about protesting, before another smack landed, equally as hard and equally as embarrassing.

“Captain.” This time he did manage to protest, but it did not appear as if the Captain had even heard him, as he swatted him a third time. “Ow.”

“Do not get smart with me. I told you to stay away from him,” he scolded harshly, followed by two more explosions of pain across his backside. To be honest, he hadn't been perfectly sure that Gregson would make good on the dire threat he had uttered a good week ago. And who would blame him? Spanking a grown man wasn’t unheard of, but usually those instances occurred in the context of relationships – or sex. Not between a Police Captain and his consultant. “Repeatedly, I might add.” He rose up on his toes with the force of the next smack and made a desperate attempt to twist his rear away from the Captain’s punishing palm. It proved quite unsuccessful, as he was unceremoniously yanked back and swatted again.

“Captain,” he tried again, suddenly horribly aware that someone might walk by or be attracted by the noise. His eyes darted around, checking their surroundings, but gladly there was no-one in sight. He desperately hoped that no-one was in hearing distance either. “What are you doing?” A rather self-explanatory question, he had to admit, but in his defence, he had more pressing matters on his mind.

“Sawyer is dangerous! Such an incredibly foolish thing to do,” he said, still swatting away. It was entirely unfair that the slaps hurt so much worse on cold skin, he thought. And to his eternal embarrassment, he actually felt tears welling up in his eyes and a whine creeping up his throat. He blamed the moisture on the freezing temperature, because there was no way in hell that a few swats would make him lose his cool like this. The whine emerged despite his best attempts to keep it locked inside though.

“Dangerous! Reckless! Foolish!” Gregson lectured, accompanying each word with a heavy smack that stung terribly even through the fabric of his trousers and underwear. He spared a fleeting thought of regret to the fact that he had chosen a jacket this morning and not a coat that would have covered his backside and put another layer between Gregson’s palm and his butt. Then he thankfully stopped and whirled him back until he could pin him in place with both hands on his shoulders and a piercing glare.

“You do not disobey me. – And you do not take needless risks with your wellbeing.” He couldn’t hold eye contact, not when the disappointment and worry in Gregson’s eyes were so pronounced. Very few people managed to evoke such discomfort and shame with only a pointed look and a stern word, but the Captain certainly was one of them. “Hey.” He squeezed his shoulders in warning and Sherlock glanced up. “Am I understood?”

He nodded quickly, chin dropping to his chest so he wouldn’t have to deal with the emotions on the Captain’s face. “Yes,” he said hoarsely, in case a verbal confirmation was expected, then cleared his throat and repeated himself.

“Good. I’m taking you home,” Gregson said, grabbing his arm again, albeit a bit more gently this time. He still tried to shrug out of it, of course. He wasn’t a criminal or a child and didn’t need to be escorted to the car.

“I can walk just fine, thank you.”

“Don’t blame me for making sure that you actually get to the car without any more hare-brained ideas,” the Captain replied, but thankfully settled for steering him with a firm hand on the small of his back. His butt stung unpleasantly and he carefully prodded at it with one hand as he was pushed along.

“Get in,” the Captain ordered with a finger point when he had opened the passenger side door and he dutifully did. Wincing only slightly as he eased himself into the cushion as carefully as possible without making a show about it. It stung, but it wasn’t overly sore, therefore there was no need for theatrics. Besides, he whole-heartedly despised the idea that a spanking could get to him like this. He wasn’t a child.

The drive was spent in uncomfortable silence, as he squirmed in the passenger seat, mulling over the fact that a few slaps could produce such an unpleasant sting, and the Captain concentrated on traffic.

“How did you know where to find me?” he asked after a while. The Captain raised his eyebrows and glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

“I’m not stupid, Sherlock,” he replied. “I know your tantrum face and what you do when you don’t get your way.” He nodded sharply, brushing at some imaginary lint on his trousers. “And Joan called me. – She grew suspicious when you lied about going to a meeting.”

“I see.” He clenched his jaw and let the anger about Watson’s betrayal wash over him.

“Don’t blame her,” Gregson said. “She was worried. – We both were. – You can’t keep rushing headfirst into danger, Sherlock. One of these times it’s gonna get you hurt – or worse. – What on earth were you thinking anyway? And please don’t tell me it was all some elaborate temper tantrum.”

“I still think Sawyer must have dragged some sort of evidence back home. Unintentionally, of course,” he offered after a while, pointedly ignoring the Captain’s very astute assessment. Of course he would never call it a temper tantrum because it was demeaning and childish. He took a brief moment to think about an adult term for his behaviour, but quickly dismissed the notion. He studied Gregson’s profile instead and the twitching muscle in his jaw did not paint a very reassuring picture at all.

“I’m only saying this once more,” he started ominously, as he pulled to the curb in front of the Brownstone and turned to glare at him. “You stay here, at your home until Monday, and get some sleep, or I’ll finish what I started in that alley.”

He swallowed thickly, and quickly nodded his assent. He had absolutely no desire to find out how much heavier Gregson’s hand could get. Besides, he was tired. Immensely so. His rigorous sleep-deprivation did not bring the desired results this time, so maybe a bit of shut-eye wasn’t such a terrible idea.

“Do I need to escort you inside?”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, that shan’t be necessary, Captain. Good night.” He bolted from the car. There was now no doubt left that Captain Gregson would indeed follow through on his threats and he assumed that he had got away lightly this time. There was no need to test him any further tonight, therefore he’d very reluctantly wait for DNA and fingerprint results and perhaps distract himself with another one of his cold cases.


End file.
